Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 1956 — page 75: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“You're damned right!” Mame nodded emphatically. “Whenever you start writing checks, I start running!” “Call up the bank,” Mitch said. “Get the manager on the phone.” “Nuts!” “Go on,” Mitch said. “Ill talk to him and let you listen.” Mame wavered. She snatched up the phone. “You think I won't, huh? Well, Pl just call your bluff, buddy!” The manager came on the wire. Mitch took it and spoke to him, holding the receiver slightly away from his ear so that Mame could listen. “Yes,” the man said. “Yes, I re- member our conversation _ this morning. The twenty-five hundred is earmarked for Miss Mamie Dor- set. It is to be paid to no one else.” Mame looked bewildered. Then, her eyes narrowed knowingly, and she whispered to Mitch. He nodded and spoke to the manager again. ~ “One other thing, Mr. Baker. You are not to honor any stop- payment on the check... . Will you repeat that, please? Miss Dor- ‘set is with me, and I want her to hear you confirm it... Thank you, very much, sir.” Mitch hung up the receiver. Mame shook her head _ incredu- lously. “It’s on the level,” she said, in an awed tone. “You did something that was actually on the level!” THE CELLINI CHALICE “Yes?” said Mitch with a trace of stiffness. “That’s all you have tosaytome?r” “Well . .. I guess I owe you an apology, maybe.” He rode back to the store with the moving van. Pocketing fifteen hundred from the furniture dealer, he returned to Bette’s apartment. She was there waiting for him. She had been worried, fearful that he might have got himself jammed up. And when he walked in grin- ning, obviously safe and successful, she was almost tearfully happy. He kissed her, and scooped her up in his arms. Smiling down into her face, he walked toward the bed with her. “How about you, baby? Any trouble at your end?” “Not a bit, Mitch. That man- ager was just as nice as he could “Swell. You put the dough back in your own bank?” “I couldn’t, honey. It was too late.” “Was it?” Mitch shifted her in his arms. “And was it too late to buy money orders or a cashier’s check ?” “Well, no, I guess not. But those things cost money, you know, and—” Mitch dropped her suddenly, and she fell to the bed with a little scream. He flipped her over on her stomach, sat down on her and took out his roll of tape. She didn’t struggle much. She 73 GEomichbooks.Go